


He's So Unusual

by Liadt



Category: Bulman, Lovejoy (TV)
Genre: Gen, antiques
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lovejoy spots a couple he's never seen before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's So Unusual

**Author's Note:**

> 'Bulman' (1985-87) was a British TV series about George Bulman, who after leaving the police force opened a clock hospital along with some private detecting on the side. 'Lovejoy' (1986-94) was a TV show about a roguish antiques dealer. I thought the two series made a good fit for a crossover and then I found out they shared Murray Smith as a writer.
> 
> This fic was inspired by flicking through the series one DVD's of 'Bulman' and seeing Bulman's outfit for an auction.

It was a warm, spring afternoon in Suffolk, sunshine streamed into a large barn converted into an auction house. As Lovejoy and Eric moved around various tables piled with potential treasure, Eric was detailing his latest, bound-to-fail, get-rich-quick scheme to Lovejoy. “If we get these brand new Indian cabinets off Dockyard Dave we can age them up and double, no, triple our money.”

Lovejoy picked up a fussily decorated jug. “Have you seen those two over there?” He pointed the jug at another couple inspecting a large ormolu clock. One of them was a middle-aged man dressed flamboyantly in a fedora hat, half-moon spectacles and a velvet jacket with a brightly coloured cravat, handkerchief and red rose buttonhole. Sadly, his tatty grey gloves somewhat spoiled the look. An attractive young woman accompanied him. She wasn’t as conspicuously dressed, she wore a large overcoat over a baggy shirt tucked in to jeans.

“Huh?” Eric peered across the tables. “You mean the joke and the dream.”

“I see I’ve managed to teach you one thing, Eric, not to judge a woman by the wrapper. It’s the joke who has caught my attention.”

“I know he looks dotty, Lovejoy, but it doesn’t mean he’ll fall for a tarted up bit of our stock pretending to be something pricey. Now Dockyard Dave...”

Lovejoy was wrong: Eric had learnt two things from him.

“I wasn’t thinking of selling to him. I know many in the trade have their eccentricities, but he is as you said too dotty looking.”

“You reckon he’s a con-merchant?”

“No, an undercover cop.”

“A cop!” said Eric, his voice rising in panic. “We haven’t done anything, have we?”

Lovejoy grabbed Eric’s parka sleeve and pulled Eric towards himself. “Shh, no we haven’t, Eric, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve found myself on the wrong side of the law for something I’d didn’t do.”

“You could be mistaken.”

“If he isn’t, he’s a villain’s heavy.”

Eric made an incoherent noise.

“He can’t be one,” continued Lovejoy, “Firstly, a heavy wouldn’t be intelligent enough to use a disguise. Secondly, they go around in pairs like a bad music hall act. The girl is hardly a burly ruffian is she? Probably a rookie WPC.”

Eric shook his head. “Let’s go.”

Lovejoy held on to Eric’s sleeve again. “If I’m not mistaken, there’s a Patek Philippe mixed in with that lot of rusty watches. I’m not missing this sale.”

“There’ll be other auctions.”

“Even fake Patek Philippes are worth something. We’re going over to introduce ourselves. Not all coppers have it in for me in East Anglia. Come on.” Lovejoy dragged the reluctant Eric with him.

“Not yet,” said Eric gloomily.

Lovejoy sidled up to George Bulman. “Nice gliding isn’t it? A perfect example of French craftsmanship.”

“Yes, it’s quite exquisite,” said George, letting Lovejoy get a better view of the clock he held. Lucy winced: George’s attempt to sound posh was marred by his raspy voice. Lovejoy was confident his assessment of the pair was spot on. Eric thought George wasn’t the heavy, but a crime Lord and Lucy was his moll.

“I haven’t seen you here before. I’m Lovejoy, by the way.”

“And I’m his associate,” said Eric.

“Apprentice,” corrected Lovejoy.

“I’m Bulman, George Bulman,” said George giving a large smile and shaking Lovejoy’s hand.

“I’m Eric,” said Eric smiling at Lucy and proffering a hand.

Lucy ignored it. Why do I get all the drips after me, she thought. “I’m Lucy McGinty. George is teaching me about the business. My father said he is the best. George runs a clock hospital and I studied mediaeval texts at university.”

“Er, my Dad’s a butcher and I study hard rocks,” babbled Eric flustered by Lucy’s good looks. 

Lucy still wasn't impressed.

In case Lucy wasn’t a fan of meat eaters and forgetting that making a play for a gangster's girl was a bad idea, Eric added, “I know a good vegan café, if you’d like to go with me. I’m a vegetarian and have you seen that box of old watches by the way?”

Lovejoy glared at Eric before turning back to George. “Are you buying for yourself?”

“We’ve been asked to come here by a client,” replied George.

“George! Lucy! You came!” The voice of a woman with a real upper-class accent came from behind Lovejoy.

Lovejoy span round to see Lady Jane Felsham striding up to them, waving a catalogue in greeting. 

“You know them, Janey?” said Lovejoy in surprise.

“I would have thought that was obvious, Lovejoy. I didn’t expect to see you and Eric here,” said Jane testily, before addressing George. “I almost didn’t recognise you without your ‘Will Power’ T-shirt, George. I recall the half-moon spectacles. You’re looking very dapper by the way.”

George smiled in reply to the compliment and pulled his glasses down his nose.

Lucy rolled her eyes, now George would dress like a silly fool for the rest of the case. Eric and Lovejoy exchanged glances. Eric thought Jane needed to stop hanging out with ageing Aristo’s and get with youth trends. Lovejoy wondered if Jane was still angry with him for ruining Felsham Hall’s flowerbeds. An angry client was chasing him, but he thought Jane would have forgiven him as the client had swindled an old lady out of her life savings. It was probably Alexander’s influence over her. Alexander, Jane’s husband, did not like Lovejoy.

“You could have called me, Janey, if you wanted any antiques picked up,” said Lovejoy sounding a little hurt. Jane was supposed to be his friend after all.

“I’ve not hired them to bid for me, they’re private detectives,” 

“You were nearly there,” interjected Eric, who was relieved he was wrong about the pairs’ identity.

“What’s the trouble? You know I’ll help if I can,” said Lovejoy.

“It’s my God-daughter, Sarah. She’s run off with the family collection of silver, Georgian, cake baskets.”

“What did she do that for?” said Eric.

“The usual - a boy,” said Jane, with a sigh.

“I could have asked around my contacts,” said Lovejoy.

“That’s the point; Sarah knows I’m friends with you and if she heard you were searching for her she’d be off where no-one could find her.”

“What makes you think a couple of strangers would fare any better?”

“George Bulman is an ex-Detective Chief Inspector.”

Lovejoy gave Eric a brief ‘I told you so look‘.

“CID and Special Branch among other things,” said Lucy, proudly.

“He’s handled cases similar to this before,” said Jane.

Lovejoy furrowed his brow as he tried to latch onto a long forgotten memory and turned to George. “You’re not THE Bulman who was involved with drugs smugglers stashing drugs in furniture imported by innocent, antique dealers in the 70’s? I’ve met grateful traders who were going to jail, until you busted the crime ring.”

“The very same,” confirmed George with pride, because the memory briefly made him feel like he was still a member of the police force. 

“G.B.H: you’re a legend,” said Lovejoy.

“G.B-what?” Eric was alarmed, in his mind’s eye George’s relaxed grin had turned into a sadistic smirk.

“G.B.H. George won’t harm you if he likes your taste in music.” Lucy pointed at Eric’s headphones hung around his neck. Lucy couldn’t resist, she'd had several months of bad poetry posted through the letterbox by a determined, but unwelcome suitor recently and she didn’t want to collect another one. She had all the poetry she wanted in life courtesy of George’s fondness for quoting the classics.


End file.
